“Say what you will about the old, wicked magelords of the Empire, but they knew how to run an empire,” he continued. “Do I think you need to be in charge of everything? Probably not,” he conceded. “I think it is enough that you are in charge of the Magelaw. The Third Magocracy. And in taking charge of this land, you also take responsibility for these other problems. These other dooms.
“Why? It’s not because of your pretty faces and your winning personalities. It’s because you are the only ones around who have an idea of what is actually going on and what might fix it. I’ve only worked for wizards for a short time, and you have shortcomings in great abundance, but you also see the world beyond your castle walls. You sometimes see the plight of the people and seek to improve it. And you are ferocious of your defense of what you have, ferocious and cunning.”
“That doesn’t mean we need to be kings,” I cautioned.
“Kings? Nay,” Jannik said. “Kings are for ruling. We don’t need more rulers. We need thinkers and doers. Men and women with ambition who are allowed to do what they do best, without hinderance or the sufferance of the ignorant. I’ll be honest – Master Heeth scared the piss out of my pecker, when he spoke of the horror that will end the world. Even three thousand years away, it is a terrifying notion. Why have children? Why plant a farm? Why go on knowing that it’s all so transitory?
“Because the wizards are doing their job,” he said, answering himself. “There might be doom in the far future, but it isn’t a certainty. Not if there are wizards doing what wizards do, in the service of man, and with the wisdom the gods have granted you. Face it,” he concluded. “There’s no one else who can save the world but you. But us,” he corrected. “And if we don’t do it . . . no one else will.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Acrimony in the Beryen Council
“The man who hides his faults plans to make more.”
Wilderlands Folk Saying
From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh
The halls of Carneduin were gorgeous in late spring, with every tree and every terrace along the majestic valley bursting with foliage and flowers. The lush smell of growing things and falling water filled the air with a heady aroma that seemed to encourage drowsiness and joy. And congestion. I have never seen anyplace as thick with pollen as Carneduin in the spring.
As enchanting as the scenery was, however, we were distracted from its beauty by the tense discussions going on in the Hall of the Wise. The Beryen Council was meeting for the second time, and it was a raucous proceeding.
I arrived through the Ways with my large party on the morning of the meeting. There were several magi I wished to propose as new Beryen, to prosecute our missions, and the Tera Alon insisted on being included. Pentandra came soon after I arrived, her apprentice and Rondal in tow. By the time we came to the Hall of Wisdom, we had quite the crowd. Enough so that Lord Haruthel was a bit perplexed as to where we would seat everyone.
I think the Alka Alon thought that the Beryen Council would be just another exercise in killing time and appearing to do something about the crisis, not an actual effective order of operatives. Yet Lady Fallawen had worked diligently to organize and train a number of agents for inclusion in the council. Tamonial was there, in his Tera Alon form, as was Lord Tambaraleth, the leader of the Tera Alon in Vanador. Ithalia and the other Emissaries appeared in due time with other attendants. I asked Lilastien and Onranion to attend on the basis of their personal loyalty, areas of expertise, support of humanity, and the fact that both of them tended to irritate the more conservative members of the council.
The other Alon races were represented: I spent several minutes greeting Azhguri, the Karshak representative, and Gurkarl was there with a handful of strange gurvani who appeared stunned by both the beauty of Carneduin and the deference with which Gurkarl was treated by humani and Alka Alon alike.
Then there were the Alka Alon representatives, themselves: Letharan, lord of Anas Yartharel. Micrethiel, considered amongst the wisest of the Alka Alon (and she wasn’t particularly fond of humans, which might have contributed to her reputation for wisdom). And Lord Haruthel, the master of Carneduin.
They didn’t seem particularly happy about the hastily called meeting.
There were a lot of ceremonial preambles, because the Alka Alon can’t take a whiz without a formal declaration of urination, but after the formalities were over, we got to work fairly quickly. That irritated our hosts, which was one of the reasons I did it.
“My lords and ladies,” I began my address, “the immediate threat of military action from Korbal is, for the moment, abated,” I announced. “The last of his great armies was eliminated hundreds of miles from Anas Yartharel. I believe you can count your strategy of throwing humani at gurvani as successful,” I said, grimly.
“That seems an unfair characterization,” Haruthel objected. “We are allies, Count Minalan.”
“So we are,” I agreed. “Yet our alliance was not so effective that we did not have to have divine intervention to prevail.”
“If we had had but a bit more time to prepare . . .” Tambaraleth said, shaking his head. “The gurvani moved in haste, while we were just beginning to formulate our response.”
“Us short-lived folk do that,” Gurkarl chuckled, hoarsely. “And now Korbal has fewer years left than a gurvan. That’s bound to inspire haste.”
“It also demonstrates why humanity makes a good ally,” I agreed. “We respond quickly and forcefully. If it hadn’t been for the human magi, Shakathet would have been at the gates of Anas Yartharel, by now. As it was, we managed to wipe out a significant number of Korbal’s reserves. And we repelled a giant,” I added, because if you actually manage to repel a giant, you brag about it.
“That is appreciated,” grumbled Letharan, sounding not-at-all appreciative. “In turn, we supplied forty trained Sky Riders to help blunt the attack.”
“That is appreciated,” Dara said, suddenly. “Truly, it is. But it would have been more appreciated if we bloody knew they existed at the beginning of the war!”
“Regardless, our alliance was successful,” I said, without glancing at Dara. She and the other human Sky Riders were still annoyed at Ithalia and her Tera Alon riders for concealing their existence. “We kept the Nemovorti at bay, for another season.
“But can we do so the next?” I continued. “While the humani have pressed ahead and trained and prepared our warriors for battle, the Tera Alon, alone, seem prepared to fight with us. We have won a temporary peace, perhaps, but Korbal and his minions already prepare for the next round. It may come in a year or in a decade, but it will come. And what will come of it? More dead humans? More Alka Alon dabbling in the arts of war? When will the Alka Alon council bring their power to bear on Korbal? When will they strike at Olum Seheri and the Dark Vale?” I demanded.
“Peace, Spellmonger,” Letharan said, his eyes narrowing. “Some of our greatest are preparing, training in the arts of war. We will field a force soon enough.”
“Soon enough?” scoffed Pentandra. “Within our lifetimes? The Alka Alon have long lives and may not consider themselves trained until I am a grandmother, or longer. Meanwhile, Korbal plots strikes and sends his agents against us, now. How many thousands of humans have to die before the Alka Alon are prepared for war?”
“If you have abated the immediate threat, Count Minalan,” Haruthel said, testily, “then it should have purchased us sufficient time for our preparations. Your actions this year have been laudable,” he continued. “We had no idea you would be so successful against Korbal so quickly. Your temerity in the face of such darkness is worthy of note.”
“Then note it,” I snapped. “But understand that it was done in desperation, using unconventional means, because I had no other choice. I do not need honors,” I insisted. “I need aid. I have established my own realm in the Wilderlands and defend it tenaciously. Yet we are not so short-lived as to ignore the long-term consequences of this war.”
&nb
sp; “If the Abominations can be defeated, then this war will be at an end,” Micrethiel said, annoyed. “You will be victorious. Isn’t that what you warrior-princes delight in?”
“I am more than a mere warrior-prince, my lady,” I insisted. “I am a steward charged with the protection of all of humanity. If Korbal should die tomorrow, there are worse things waiting in the darkness to occupy our time.”
“You?” Micrethiel scoffed. “Who made you the guardian of all of humanity?”
“I did,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “As such, I am concerned that we are not fully aware of the context of this war. Indeed, I feel as if we have been thrown into a story which began long ago and of which we know precious little. I challenged the Alka Alon just a few months ago to speak to us honestly about the doom that awaits us all, in a few thousand years. I demanded to know what you did about the matter. In the interests of our alliance,” I added.
“We have considered that request,” Haruthel murmured, uncomfortably. “There is, I admit, some truth to that assertion. There are certain natural forces which none of us have control over. Unfortunately, in due time, there will be conditions that will cause the decline of magic. But that will not happen for centuries,” he dismissed.
“Centuries? Try millennia!” said Micrethiel. “It is nothing that should concern the humani. It is beyond their comprehension.”
“Try us!” Pentandra said, scowling. “We are not as ignorant nor as impotent as you think, my lady. We have fought this war for years and have learned much in its prosecution. Be frank with us, I beg you, if you value us as allies. If we do not know the truth, then we cannot act as we should.”
“The truth?” Letharan scoffed. “What truth would you have us tell you? One that you can understand?”
“We are not as ignorant and unsophisticated as you believe, Lord Letharan,” I insisted. “We may be ephemeral beings, but we are not unknowing. Nor uncaring about the fate of our descendants. If there is a threat to Callidore, now or in three millennia, then we must know it, if we are to be good allies.”
The three Alka Alon members of the council exchanged long, meaningful looks in silence. Perhaps they were communicating mind-to-mind, or perhaps they were just equivocating, but eventually Haruthel sighed.
“Yes,” he finally admitted. “There is a threat. It is one we have known about for many years, but one which should not concern you. There is a chance that something may eventually happen that will diminish magic in the world. But it is a far-distant threat.”
“It is a threat nonetheless,” Pentandra insisted. “For we understand what will happen to the rest of the world, when magic fades. It will die,” she said, emphasizing each syllable. “And all of us with it. Tell me that the Alka Alon do not have a contingency for that,” she demanded.
“Our plans are none of your concern,” Micrethiel said, distastefully. “Those are matters which—”
“Bullshit!” Azhguri the Stonesinger spat. “Those are matters that concern us all! Deny that the Alka Alon are preparing to flee this world, before then! Or tell us what plan you have to repair this . . . this threat. For we know you have one. The Alka Alon always have a plan.”
“Plans that include the Karshak, and the Tal Alon, and the gurvani,” said Haruthel with a heavy sigh.
“How many of us?” Azhguri asked, pointedly. “When our ancestors came to Callidore, representatives from each Alon were included in the migration. But the Alka Alon comprised the majority of the settlers. Explain to us how you plan on contending with this crisis.”
“It is above your comprehension,” Micrethiel said, haughtily.
“I find that an insulting perspective,” snorted the Karshak. “Tell us what you plan, my lords. For we fear that the Fair Folk are planning to flee this world when it needs you the most. And abandon us to doom while you escape.”
It was a bold and stark accusation, and one that made the Alka Alon members of the council visibly uncomfortable. There were more glances among them, before Haruthel spoke again.
“Our plans are still evolving,” he proposed. “We consider all options. But for a crisis that still lies centuries in the future, there is ample time to deliberate. We are confident that we will find a solution.”
“My apologies, Lord Haruthel, but I am mistrustful of that confidence,” Gurkarl said, in his croaking voice. “Indeed, I feel that you are being deceitful about the Alka Alon’s plans. It would be entirely consistent for the Alka Alon to decide to flee this world before the doom that faces us all.”
The gurvan’s accusation hovered over the conference table like a cloud.
“That,” Letharan said, slowly, “is one of our options. It makes no sense to sacrifice all when some could survive.”
“It makes no sense to abandon our world when we can strive to save it!” Astyral said, with unexpected fervor. “My lords, I am newly betrothed, and I wish to raise my eventual children in a world with a future, not a world foreordained to be doomed to destruction. I am fearful to even bring children into a world that is destined to die. What is the point? Yet it is clear that the Alka Alon have the capability to flee this peril. And leave the rest of us behind. How can you defend that?” he asked, plaintively.
“We do what we must to preserve our people,” explained Haruthel. “In truth, none of us will be alive when that fateful day arrives. Our descendants will have to contend with this crisis, not us.”
“Yet you are preparing,” Pentandra accused. “You are preparing to leave us here.”
“Yes,” Micrethiel finally admitted, after a long pause. “That is one of our contingencies. But not the only one. We are hopeful that some solution may be found. But it would be foolish not to prepare to flee, should no solution arise.”
“Can you bring the rest of us, then?” I asked. “Or will you arrive at your new world as you did on this one: with five kindreds of Alka Alon, and just enough specimens of the other races so that you can raise your servants like vegetables in a garden?”
“That is not your concern!” Micrethiel said, hotly. “Once we have left Callidore behind, we —”
“Ah!” Gurkarl said, wrinkling his furry black nose, “then you do intend on abandoning us. Or at least most of us. I’m certain you will include only the most loyal and servile of the other Alon. The least independent of your control will languish on a dying world while you build a new life elsewhere.”
“That is unfair!” Haruthel insisted. “You do not understand! We have struggled with the knowledge of this crises for millennia while your folk have enjoyed the benefits of this fair world. You have not had to endure the existential threat of this doom the way we have. We have kept you in blissful ignorance, for to burden you with this knowledge would be unfair and cruel. We are a compassionate people,” he continued, in reasonable tones. “We would not give you more than you can contend with in one short lifetime. That is our concern; it need not trouble you.”
“Well, what if it does anyway?” I asked, reasonably enough. “And what if we take independent action? For I imagine that the Vundel may have an opinion on the future of the Alka Alon. I hear nothing of their plans to abandon the world that is their home, and which they invited you to become a part of. Are they aware of your willingness to flee it?”
“That . . . that is not germane to this discussion,” Letharan said, uncomfortably. Alka Alon coloration is a difficult thing for humans to interpret, but I would swear he went pale at the mention of the Sea Folk. “The Vundel are preoccupied with their own preparations. They care little for what we do on the dry lands.”
“Perhaps if they understood what you intended, they might,” Pentandra said, her eyes narrowing. “My lords, I do not think your . . . contingencies are representative of your good faith. Indeed, they smack of cowardice. But perhaps the humani and the Alka Alon approach such things differently. Yet if that is the case, then it calls into question our entire alliance. We are not dogs for you to leash against your own housebreaker, Korbal, while you pr
epare to flee in the night. Challenge us on this and you may find a disobedient cur in your yard, not a faithful hound.”
“Do you threaten us, my lady?” Letharan asked, his lip curling into a sneer. “I could go on holiday and discover you died of old age before I returned.”
“You could go on holiday and find your precious city conquered or destroyed by the Sea Folk, if you piss us off,” Pentandra replied, sharply. “Don’t think that we are unaware of your people’s influence on our people’s history. We may be newly come to this world, but we did not cross the Void because we are fools. Challenge us, and you will discover just how adamant the humani can be to exact vengeance on those who have done us wrong!”
“Strong words,” Haruthel said, shaking his head, sadly. “We are supposed to be allies in this struggle —”
“Then act like it!” I demanded. “You admit you prepare to run away, after you agreed to fight. Korbal is not the only challenge our peoples face. Yet I wonder if your enmity toward him is due to the fact that he defies the council or that he controls the molopor. The one which would hasten your ability to flee.”
“That is . . . that is a base assumption,” Haruthel said, unconvincingly, shaking his head. “Count Minalan, we want to preserve Callidore as much as you do . . . but if that fails, would you have us perish?”
“As we will?” Pentandra asked. “Really, my lords, you are disingenuous. If you desire our cooperation, then don’t bury us in flattery and obfuscate the issues with fanciful lore. Or, as my lord husband’s folk say, don’t piss on us and tell us it’s raining. Tell us true and allow us the courtesy of making our plans fully informed.”
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